The
clues had been there all along but countless centuries of study had
failed to link them until the probes began bringing back evidence.
Anyone who ever espoused the idea that we were alien hybrids or that
other intelligent life forms existed were laughed out of scholarly
circles as crackpots and fiction writers.
Yet we all know. Deep in our collective psyche, deep down where all
of us are linked in the dream levels; there is the place we truly know.
It is that place where we think we can fly, where we connect
telepathically, where poems and fiction spring from, where Gods exist
and fey creatures roam. The kernel of truth at the basis of all our
mythology, our legends and folk tales; there, there in that place we
avoid thinking about, distracted in our conscious reality of day to day
living. That is where we know why we are alone.
There is a vast empty sense of loss when we gaze up into the stars. A
reason why we avoid gazing out into that great uninhabited incredible
and beautiful vista. That emptiness engulfs us if we stare too long. We
avoid the night and the stars. They remind us with their cold clarity
that all the rest are gone.
The photos are hoaxes, the moon landing never happened, there are no
faces or pyramids on mars, no odd phenomena on the other planets, the
asteroid belt was not once a planet, no other gas giant was ever thrown
off orbit by its neighbours, no reason why the giant pictograms are
carved into the vast plains of this world, no reason why all the pyramid
like structures on every continent resemble each other, no reason but
one.
Us.
We the lonely remnants.
In our dreams and imagination we remember them. Every story holds a kernel of the truth.
So long ago, we forgot, in the struggle to survive.
We failed to remember and in our failure we forgot why we needed to survive and so we tread the same paths to destruction.
Soon we won’t just be alone.
We too, will be gone.